Post 6

Forgiveness lately has been difficult because I have a lot of stuff  coming up in my own life with my ex husband that’s been using my children against me, that type of thing, so I’ve said to myself “can I forgive him?” God forbid something happened, would I be there? And I think I would because at the end of the day no matter what he does and what he tries to use against me I’m always gonna be true to myself and follow my own heart and not change my ways and stoop to what he’s doing and I think that’s forgiveness.

Post 2

“My older brother was my hero growing up.  Everyone called him ‘Jise.’  He was this hip-hop dude.  People loved him, especially the girls.  Everyone knew when he walked into a room.  I was the opposite.  I blended into the crowd.  I was quiet.  I made straight A’s.  I liked comic books and action figures.  So I always looked up to him.  He was murdered one night in 1989.  Somebody shot him.  I was fifteen at the time, and I just kind of gave up.  I thought our family was curs…ed.  I always had this feeling that I was up next.  So it was like, ‘What’s the point of being good?’  I dropped out of school.  I started hanging out with the wrong crowd.  We started robbing people.  I never actually took anything myself.  I just tagged along for the adrenaline high.  Even at my lowest, part of me was always the same good kid.  I always held down a job.  I wrote poetry.  I kept dream journals.  Whenever we were getting into trouble, my friends would always tease me.  They’d say: ‘This isn’t you, man.  Why are you here?’

Post 1

“My older brother was my hero growing up.  Everyone called him ‘Jise.’  He was this hip-hop dude.  People loved him, especially the girls.  Everyone knew when he walked into a room.  I was the opposite.  I blended into the crowd.  I was quiet.  I made straight A’s.  I liked comic books and action figures.  So I always looked up to him.  He was murdered one night in 1989.  Somebody shot him.  I was fifteen at the time, and I just kind of gave up.  I thought our family was curs…ed.  I always had this feeling that I was up next.  So it was like, ‘What’s the point of being good?’  I dropped out of school.  I started hanging out with the wrong crowd.  We started robbing people.  I never actually took anything myself.  I just tagged along for the adrenaline high.  Even at my lowest, part of me was always the same good kid.  I always held down a job.  I wrote poetry.  I kept dream journals.  Whenever we were getting into trouble, my friends would always tease me.  They’d say: ‘This isn’t you, man.  Why are you here?’